HER HEART'S DESIRE

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 5, 30 January 1909, Page 4

HER HEART'S DESIRE

(By Eleanor Seeleyc.) h The hillside, yellow with gorse, sloped ?' gently downward for sonic distance, then apparently ceased to exist, its ~ golden edge meeting sharply, as far as s eye could reach, the robin's egg-blue of , f the sky. A gigantic knife, could have . cut no more definite line. The wind \ was still, the noon sunshine intense. . Little ripples of heat trembled up into . the. ether, bearing with them the frag- J ranee of gorse and grass, and the good, i' clean scent of the earth. It was a world to itself—what might lie beyond iu serene expanse, unless otherwise known, could only he conjectured. Near the centre of the slope—the one , interruption to its even glow—cropped this moment a background for the figures of a young: man and a girl. The first was unite of the sailor type - athletic yet lounging, with skin fair beneath its tan, eyes twinkling easily, regular features, and brown hair. Trcnalsii was well acquainted with Will ilrcckan, had known him from his babyhood, iu fact, and had little good to say of him except when he was in a boat—- - all admitted his superiority there. As for Jennifer Trcgwyn—Tronalva knew ■ her too. and summed her up tersely as a "fiilc," not idiotic but incurably stupid. 1 Her presence: on the moor this day with * Will ISrcckan was a proof of Tveiialva's astuteness. That she was good to look < at as well as foolish, probablv accounted I for Hrcckan's presence. The beauty of youth was hers to perfection. Her '■ pretty figure was a rounded one; her e pretty face was round, wilh dimpled s checks and a charmingly curved chin; - while, to complete the picture, her blue £ eyes, at the present moment opened widely, were fixed upon her l-over with '■ a look of unmistakable adoration. ■- "Father says I'm a fool to have any o dealing with you, Will; and it's like I am—only—" e "Only';—" •" "0, Will, I can't help it—l do so love

you!" A Hush overspread the, young man's face, then, .retreating, left him pale through his bronze. His voice deepened with emotion: "'.My girl, tlod knows why you love nif—t don't! I've treated you shamc-

fully, that's the truth. Another girl would knife me; but you—yon—hanged if you don't love me just the same!" He hesitated, halted, began again:

"Jennifer, you trusted me once, and | 1 Went oil without word or sign. You trusted me twice, and 1 left you at the church door for all Trenalva to stare at. And yet, in spile of all, you're trusting me again. You're a good woman, Jenny—too good for me—but I'll right you before the world. God curse me for ever if I fail von now!" "Will, dear-t). Will, doii't feel it so! You had reason, I'm sure, lo leave me. I w<i- that silly—they all say it. and it must be triu —how could you be sure? You just waited. The others don't know you as I do. f. didn't blame you." "That's what burls. You never blamed me. and though I held y«u up to shame, you trust me still." Jenny's sole answer was to rest her head against his arm. with a mute, halfchildish ronlidcnce whose appeal went straight to his heart. Thus they rested for some time, and one of the two. at least, felt the stormy waves of his nature subsiding into calm. Meanwhile the. warm peace of the moor was unbroken: rather it was accentuated by the drowsy hum of bees above the gorse. anil by a deeper, though harmonious, murmur that seemed to rise from the I blue depths beyond. Presently, as the sound gn'w more diisthu-l, the young man half unconsciously gave ear to it—the. sailor in him caught its message, even in the mills! of his joy. "Tide's turned,'' said he regretfully; Jllimc for us to be going, Jenny." They a hand beneath dreary place I'll have to take you IT Do vou think vou can bear it?" "You've no' need to nsk that, Will ISrcckan." 5),,. began with some dignity, but. the next, moment threw her arms impetuously round hi- neck:

"0, Will, Will," she cried. -I'm the happiest siirl in Trenalva!' 1 Little inore was said as they walked away. Speech was usurped by the rising Hood of remorseful affection in the one, in the other by the full rapture of love that at last 'met love. (Juictly. therefore, hand in hand they threaded their wav across the slope, towards Hie inceting-iiuo of blue and gold. Fuller, mole penetrating, grew that deep undertone heard more faintly above, and soon between the paler, blue of the horizon and the. yellow-green of the hillside, intervened a. band of antcnsesl sapphire—the sparkling, palpitating plain of the sea.

A lew steps more, and tin." liill ended nbrujitlv i" an almost perpendicular clilV, with the insurgent tide beating sonorously at its base. Full 20Utt below lay. a narrow strip of beach, uncovered at low tide, though just now hidden, and only to be readied by a break-neck footpath down the face of the clilf. At low tide also might be seen black jagged spits of basaltic rock, running far out to sea, and forming a saw-tooth bottom over which many a ship had inked inland to its doom. It was, in fact, because of three recent wrecks in as many davs that a station for coastguards had been established on lYimick Head, just across the combe, and Will lireckan placed in charge. The lovers had come to this point for a. glance at their future home, but Will had business elsewhere, and their star was brief. Retracing their steps, therefore, they soon reached Ihe crest of the hill, where Trenalva village came in, sight, nestling dark among its wind-] blown trees. At. this point they parted

-Jennifer reluming home, and Will I going on to liosconibe. five miles farther down the coast. They parted as those part who expect to meet again, with love and without apprehension. A wave of the hand from Will, an answering wave from Jennifer, and the two passed from each other's sight. Jenny walked slowly down the village street, swinging the long ribbons of her hat. and beaming with almost vacuous] content on those she met. fine and another nodded greeting, one or two „pokc I and! all gazed after her as she passed.' exchanging (.oinuients with their neighbors. "Time's set for Similar." said old Mrs. Feefv; "du„l think it will come on'?" "Not if the man is Wiill lireckan." responded the husband. "A fule. ain't she now. to make a third app'intinenl arid' two's fell through?" ".leiinil'er hasn't, right sense." commented Mary Somerby. Jennifer's cousin and whilom playmate. "If she were marrying to save her good name. I could understand it—'twould be nat.'ral then to hang on. lint that ain't it: it's just that Aw is in love, with Will lb-cckan. She as good a» says, 'I dote on ye. I'll lie down, an' you can walk over me.'" "Needn't mind about taking vour shoes oil', neither.'' supplemented '.Mrs. Nomcrbv's unmarried sister, with a disdainful toss of her prettv head. 'lf ever I let n man treat me like that, you'll know it!"

The old »hncuiakcr had his comment, I no. though, manlike, it wan kinder to Ike las- than liitl. "I'd never take liini if T was Jennifer: not arte." all that's passed. 'Hut she was alwavs soft-heart-ed, poor tiling! Much loci goo-l for "Will —nut (hat lic'i' su had oimnvnvs neither. _\ 11.1 I reckon," hi' ml,led. addressing a customer. "I re.-k.m ,| ,y llavi' a. chance of him (lii.s time, for I hear parso.i says 'tis true. lies-ides, Dan I'ulpcthy 'carried Jennifer's duils to the. guardhouse yesterday, an' that looks like marriage, sure it does," ''l'll believe it," said (lie. customer, "when 1 sees it, not afore. Why. last year tin- day was set. an' Jennifer si I up afore the parson. She was there all right, hut Will—he, didn't conic! An' why didn't he? 1 never could „ce. Jen-1 -.lifer's fair fnlish about him. but she's a good lass and a pretty: an' he i Idii'tj V d<uie better. Some gear, too. though. | her folks bold back, they say. when ill i tame to parting with it." f "Ay, trust, 'cm for Unit! Jennifer overpersuadc.d herself the first time, Ti do think. The moment she sets eyes on' Vim it was all over with, her; a babvl eoubl V seen how it was. lint Will wa'n't in love, so (liev sav. lie. waa just inking his fun where he could get I it, an' T don't think he realised the lass I was such a. fule. 'So he'd offer hor hisl ann, aii' she'd take it an' hold on tight. He'd tell her liuw pretty she was, and ]

it sounded to her like how pretty he thought she was. Light come, light go, ■with all the Breekaiis. And presently Will Wiis oil' to sea without any goodbyes, and there was Jenny left standing."

"Ay, but the second time—how de ye ixplain that?"

"I don't explain it. But I've heard say that when Will got back, the men ehall'cd 'him about 'his swectlleartin'; 'they told him that Jenny had got more 'sense that when he saw her hist, an' 'Wouldn't take up with him any more. An' they do say that Will bet'them a glass all round that she'd believe him 'same as ever. And so she did, poor hiss; and so she did! An' the day was set, an' Jenny waited in the church till the last, minute the law allowed; but he never come anear." ' "How did she lake it? Sure, it was mortal hard lines for a voting 'un like ■she." "You may well sav that. How she ■felt I can't tell ye; niost folks say she's too silly for fee'lin's. Hut 1 can tell you 'what she said. When it was plain at la>t that he wouldn't be there, she never changed color nor looked flustered; she just smiled round at the folks an' said 1 'in that soft little voice of hers: 'I

reckon Will', forgotten: I reckon ]'J best go home.'" "Anil had he ImgoU" "Not lie! He waited al the Mitre till 'the lads came hack from church, n;i' that night he was roarin'drunk. It was uigli on two week-, afore lie got over it; then lie went right oil' to Caiilill', 'and only got hack r,i„t mouth." ' "Anil' is he tning the. same trick

again!" "Louks like it." said the shoemaker, { p with a short gruni of disapproval, "but , I ilo.i'l know no mow." ' IVrlmps this was the kindest comnient on Jennifer in all Trenalva. llcr uwn iii'o|>le «t least were much harsher, ~ both ill judgment anil speech, anil her 'j mother was harshest of all. ' "Whcre'st been?" ilenianileil the hit- J tcr, surveying her daughter grimly us ' she entered the house. '• i Jennifer took oil' her hat anil stood •twirling the ribbons as she answered, "Oil the hill." ~ > "Willi Will llreckau?" "Alt' 'whv not. mother? It's settled ; now. We'il he man and wife i:i tivo davs more." i "Thou be'st a fule! Man and wile? ' 'Maybe, but if the man is Will Breckan, the wife'll ne'er be thee. Hasina learned thy lesson vet!" "'.Mother', don't be so hard on Will and me. lie didn't do right before, but we've settled that between us, and it sure needn't worry thee if it doesn't worry me." i "I've no patience with'o Jennifer, I say it plain. Thy 'settling' made us a laughing-stock afore, an' I doubt hut •'twill do it again. We'll go to the church with 'e this once more, but if ■the same thing happens us happened 'last time, thou needn't come home; we've bad enough o' thy weddin's!" "Ay," grumbled the father from the bench where he sat with bis pipe, "thy mother's in the right of it. But I'll sav this: tiive that low-lived fellow the ■sack, an' let liim wait in the church for naught, as thou didst afore for him; ■then our door is still open to thee as to the rest." i "He'll not he there to wait!" sailcily announced Jenny's younger sister. "And if he was, Jen wouldn't leave her Willy. •Willy," chanted the younger son of the house. Jennifer looked from one to the other with that queer immobility of expression which, among other things, led ipeople to think her stupid; and still twirled her ribbons as she said gently. "Let be, father dear; please let-ii-he, till Sunday, anyhow. Will is better ' than you think. Ob"—with more approach to emotion than she bad yet shown—"why can't ye lct-a-bc?" and, ■turning quickly, left the room. The slow intervening hours passed by --how, she could not have told—anil the morning came at last when Jennifer, , dressed in the bridal white, worn once more, and escorted by unwilling relu- . lives, took her way oyer the mile of moorland between Trenalva and its ' church. There had bTcu high wind the ', previous night, with dashes of rain, and , tile dav was more grey than bright—a , tint in'harmony with the circumstances. ' but nevertheless of evil omen. Pretty nearly all the village was in attendance, ' for curiosity had reached the acutcst pitch. Would there be a marriage? ', Tho»c who knew everything said that I 'Parson Renfrew had talked seriously to „ JBri-ckan. anil had told him that if he | ■■^HM^M^B^^^^^iki^mlrouest

■way notable, used l„. HIIIIIO|I PH on this occasion. On the whole, pul>l»t —opinion had ■leaned to the side of no marriage; although, witli the odd bias against meekness'which -o generally contravenes that beatitude, public sympathy reached out beforehand to Will ("a 'man "lafrally don't like to have a hussy so bent on liiin!")'—and public justice prejudged lie left her, 'twould sarvc her Imt right.'' Jennifer, however, heeded none of these things—at least she seemed unaware of them. .She walked along composedly, liftimr carefully her irliile skirts from an obstructing bramble, looking straight ahead, with peaceful eyes and a face whose tranipiility never varied. . ■ The church stood on a headland, overlooking the sea, which often in time of storm sent, its spindrift Hying over the ancient building. Those who reared it in old days must have placed it on this ■wind-swept, storm-racked height to serve as a landmark for passing ships. Nowhere along the coast was the wind ■more violent than here. The very slabs ■in the churchyard, when' they had not silready fallen Hat, had been braced ■against its force and two or three ■scraggy trees near the church door were •bent nearly double from the blast. It was a lonely shrine, not unbelitting the generations" of sea-and-crageiue:i whom it had beaconed towards homes tran■sitory or eternal. Just as the party reached' the porch,; the sun, previously'obscured, .shouldered his liberal way through the clouds to ■pour down a Hood of golden light. Each lichened stone caught the glow, the dull ■line of the .sea began to sparkle; the very dead beneath their slabs must have •felt its vital warmth strike through! There was something almost theatrical in the display—ill-advised, too giUldy for ihe occasion. Nature really lias mo sympathy—we translate her by out own moods into sympathetic joy or sorrow—but, in actual fact, we are shattered on | the rocks of her impassivity. For. this once she had shown herself as she Is. 'And vet—so strangely are we built—of all who attended the wedding, there •was probably, none but the bride-elect ■who felt, the incongruity. While others giw more cheerful in response to the j I 'vond onion." she for the first; time looked uncase "If ain't bcutting." she )'would have. said had she framed her

thought. 1 In' the midst, then, of this ernri illumination, the party entered the church. The service was set. for eleven, and il still lacked Ira minutes of the hour. Promptlv at the time appointed 'Mr. Renfrew came out of the vestry and tool; his place. Tlicn ten minutes •passed, another leu. and yet another. (Rv this lime there Was such silence ill '(lie building as Treiinlva. had 'never known. A light breath seemed loud, the. fall of a pin on the stone floor ni-rve-sliiveriug. When, after the lapse of half inn hour. Mr. Renfrew beckoned In the sexton, the audience as one man gave * nervous start. The sexton took his; orders and went our. Almost, immedia.tely returning, he said in an audible whisper, ''lie hain't| nowhere in sight, sir." Tell minutes more, then Renfrew spoke again, addressing liiinself this time to the bride's father: "Do you tlt'uik, Tregwyn, we kliould wait any longer?" lie spoke quite evenly, not looking at Jennifer. ' "As my fule of a. daughter wishes!" replied Tregwvn grijnlv. All eves were focusscd on that' 'daughter; '. aeh ear was tense to calch lu-r words. I "It- ain't •noon yet, is it, Mr. Renfrew, isir?" she said in 'that expressionless little voice of hers, with the same faint, unmeaning smile thafi seemed slumped) upon her features. ' Again they waited, in silence momentarily more tragic. Tine, sunlight, as if all at once aware of impropriety, retired with startling suddennuss; at the same instant a keen wind from the sea. shrilled round Hie clmrifli. bringing with it a deathlike chill. Tin- waiting people shivered, and the Inidr grew pale. In the presence of I lie climax all had apprehended tlicv acre nevertheless, unprepared to meet it.

At last Hie clcrgvina-,T, ~|.,..,ed his hook f -gently, yet 'with IMify. and. gazing lit Jennifer compassionately, said':' "My | ' friends. 1 fear there is Miimjtliing wrung. I ' We will wail, no longer (ovdav. Mav Cod in 11 is. mercy bo. with us'all! Let us now go home." ' Only a. moment before Ihev were eager to leave; now thai. tlSe words of ■dismissal were, spoken, no one stirred. The nir was charged■■with, emotion—vol<anic forces were at work beneath the Ijuiet, almost stoical demeaupr of the

shamed bride. Slowly, very slowly, she tinned, confronting by lunis her own family, the jeering bridesmaid, long ■frightened past a je, r, the lately harsh or inquisitive neighbors., now awed to silence.. From one familiar face to another her guze travelled, ami then returned to the clergyman. Was there ill it a hint of appeal? llr must have thought so, for he took a step forward, as if iu answer. He ilid not take another. Her uplifted countenance bole ,the imprint of a passion so tremendous ithat pitv, even sympathy, was powerless.

I "'Stand there!" she said in tones n» harsh as breaking metal, "you'll not go yet. You came to sec me married! iiood riddance 'twas to some, ami folly for » fool to others. Ay, didst ever see a greater fool? J-ook at ine well! Here's ii womnn that believed a iiiiin was true, (that put behind her the jeers of her neighbors and the cold hearts o' them (is brought her into the world, an' thought even she might be happy." i I'cnl'rew tried to interrupt, but she I silenced him imperiously: "Nay, sir, 'tis] nnv hour now- all the more that the .bridegroom is lacking!" She looked around her haughtily: "Neighbors, it Will lircckan stood beside me. vou'd be ■ill smiles and greetings. Twoulil be Jennifer hen d Will there, an' who s„ proud to see u- home! II e! Mv Cod, what other home have I'.' tonic. We'll lead the uav. \i von plea>e. Conic, von next" to her laillilv. "Neighbors, tl'all in behind!" i So ovi nnastering was her mood that

lioiii- dare op.posc-iikc children they Ml into liii". Hciifrcw alone kept some power ill vulilion: lint, even he, after brief indecision, silently oili-ri'd liis arm. Il .-.(Tiucil lu him thill, her wits were .-hattcrcd, iiiul that by humoring her now he might (prevent worse, i Stranger procession never set forth. .The clergyman's urbane, sympathetic features contrasting with Jennifer's proudly lifted head and impassive face, the dazed escort, the funereal slowness and silence of the train—yet, a funeral it was. no wedding! Once more the sky was overcast, ami the dump breeze was still more penetrating as thev passed out of the churchyard through the old lych-gate and turned their faces towards J'cmiick Head. 'l'he puth-a series of ascents and ile.sccnls- woii.ul in mid out; now turning inland, now following the diiV line, bill well guarded all the way save at one point only, where the sea had ktabbed deeply into the land with a long, narrow rift, known locally as "The [Devil's Finger." No ferns grew on ils precipitous sides, sunlight never warmed (its depths. It -showed always black (water, with oily gleams peering up from Ibelow. if one had courage to approach its edge or even glance down from the light bridge that spanned the rift. ' It was at this point precisely, as the 'procession reached the height of the In ill, that a, group of men became visible, '.stooping over a prostrate something (which their movements now and then half revealed. Not a man hut knew the (import of that scene. Moved as by simultaneous impulse, they quickened their steps—they ran. Hut, rapid as thev were. Jennifer outstripped them. (With a crv that rang long in the listeners' ear.-, she thrust aside their detaining hands, parted by sheer force the huddling group, and caught to her heart the still'ened form that a few hours before was Will Brcekan. II was all that life had left her. I The men instinctively bared their

.heaiU and stepped a little aside, standing thus apart, Renfrew questioned and they answered in undertones. They had Ho idea how it happened. All they knew livas that on their way to the wedding H-lheir voices sank vet lower-they bad I seen something lloaling in the ttift. I IWith inlinile dillieulty. aided by ropes. ; thev had managed to get him mil. \ es, : stone-dead—no hope at all. There was ti ribbon round, his neck, with a ring— I "What? Sav that again!" The voice, i .unnaturally strained, was Jennifers, frihe had risen to her feet, and was re- '■ "aiding them with a gaze so compound I kit' love and anguish that the rough i sailor who bad spoken choked, and liand- : led in silence the ring attached to its ' 'discolored band. She fingered it softly, ' Iwith n vague smile. The women around I ber began to sob, and one young girl , Iqiiietly fainted on her mother's .shouli *'!'• ~ . , , It was Renfrew who at this juncture. Iwith his wonted good sense, relieved the ;tcnsion ami look command of the situation. ''Jennifer," said he, in kind, clear 1 tales, "Hod has given us this chance to Ido justice to the dead. I fully believe ' ti,..i in. is vour ring, and that AY ill

I girl's facerKagert^hi^Trin^l^^Hi the riiiir- which lie. carefully examining. .held up for a moment lo liie people be--1 fore reading its inscription aloud: "Will f .to Jennifer"—hero followed the date—"until death do us part." The erring ' lad had kept his word, and righted her J before the world. "A hotter man might have done worse." thought Renfrew. I handing back the ring. To his surprise f she made no move to take it; instead.! .she looked at him with piteous in"l lensitv. .'l -.Mr. Renfrew, isn't it true that in the '| isight of thai Will and 1 are man and ,' Uil'c!" f i "My child, I truly believe so." i "Then, iparson, dear, -say the words. Hill, do V. s-'iv the words, an' make me j (Will's wife in the sight of men! It's , kill I care for now—it's my right. 0 ', parson, give mo my right!" ••Jeir.iv, thou'rt mazed!" cried her J .mother.' "Mr. Kenfrew, the lass don't know what she's a-sayin'." She might j ,a.s well have spoken (o the surge. ."Make mo his wife!" still Jennifer im.plored; "ah, do's, do's say the words!" j i The rough coastnion strangled their , .sobs; the women, too awed for hysteria, , grew white. For the time being their ' little world contained three figures only ', .-—Renfrew, visibly troubled, poor, pas- [ sion-tossed Jennifer, and the rigid form at her feet. i There was a, long, tense pause. "1 cannot—" began Renfrew at last, then [ .stopped short. Mow deny to this hap- , less girl Ihe one boon she craved of Cod ( or man, the sole assurance for her peace I on earth—it might well he of her faith , .ill Heaven! Yet how—V" lie looked , at her once more, and his decision was Itaken. It might be iineanouioal, but that must lie between him and his'(lod. . Never before had he so moved these people; never would he so move them again as now. when, with assured, clear 1 ivoiee. he began: "Dearly behaved, we I are gathered here together in the presence of the living and the .lead-!" iuistiuctively, reverently, all sank to their 'knees, from Jennifer's face the look of agonised entreaty faded; wrapped in (wonderful peace she knelt beside the Head, clasping in warm palms his lifeJoss hand. I i "In the dav of joy." proceeded Renll'rew. "and in the' day of sorrow; for (letter and for worse, until death do ithein part!" I "Willi this ring I thee wed"- uua-ked. .the sailor who had discovered it here .placed it. "on her hand. "And. knowing (the intention of the dead, the purpose of the. living—so far as mortal man may, in the presence of these witnesses ami , o! all-seeing tlod. I pronounce von man iand wife!" j; Very sweetly, oven a little ~-hyly. Jen- |, idler bent over the dead and solemnly kissed his brow. It was her act of cun- . iseeratiou. A murmur like a sob was heard from the knoelinir timing, evoked . Jiv the heart-breaking, poignant, sweetness „f this simple act. Shyly still, yet ■witli new-born dignity, she rose to her , ■feet ami faced the witnesses, j i "Mr. Uonfrow. sir, I thank you." she , ' isiiiii; "von have given me mv heart's ( 'ile-iro. 'Neighbors, we both Ihauk yon , 'for your presence; we lake it most kind- j •)y of you. And now. will you help me dake my husband home':" , i Slowly, witli many a pause for breath, , ■llicy bore the bridegroom up the hill, . •Ihe bride keeping beside him, opened the . floor of the coastguard house, and placed I, ihim on his bed. Thou softly they closed I, the door and left the two together. i | Jennifer's marriage caused little after- ; eoinment, and --fortunately, perhaps, for I Renfrew -still loss criticism. If on this ■ •occasion his tlicolo-'v had failed him, he , •could console himself by rellectiug that I -only the letter killolh—the spirit giveth I life. If he had broken the canonical ' •law, he at least had obeyed the higher | ■law; he had given peace to a sad heart i a,ul a shattered life. Rut Trenalva was 1 in no mood for criticism. Stirred to the , i •very depths hv that, hour's storm and i 'stress, it ended hv taking Jennifer to its 1 I heart of hearts. ' She who had been its I fool was now become its sainl! I

A recent (lUthrenl; of Hrc at the residence of Oneral Sir .loliu Krc.ich near Knlicld, was extinguished in a rather novel method. The outbreak occurred in one of the bedrooms of the mansion; bul, happily, a lend watorpipe from the cistern was melted, and, largelv owing to the resultant flow of water/the tiro was put out. According to the law of averages every sheet of plate-glass should get broken in tell years.